


Sur les Pointes

by sniperct



Series: Overwatch [7]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ballet, Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Lesbian Character, Odette - Freeform, Swan Lake - Freeform, ballet allegories, post-alive short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 22:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6489511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sniperct/pseuds/sniperct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn't take long for Tracer's anger to cool, not when a random note of music reminds her of a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sur les Pointes

**Author's Note:**

> This is all okheshivar's fault

A sudden blow knocked Widowmaker off of her perch, sending her plummeting towards the ground. Widowmaker shot out her grapple and swung around. Letting go at the apex of her arch, she landed on a rooftop. Or she would have, if another blow hadn’t knocked her off course. She heard ragged breath, hot in her ear, fingers digging into her shoulders in the instant before she crashed through a window.

Tracer blinked through it, avoiding the glass in a way that Widowmaker could not. Though cut, with glass embedded in her skin, Widowmaer didn’t really feel it. She rolled to her feet with superhuman agility, firing her weapon in an arc that Tracer barely zagged around. Ducking behing a couch, Widowmaker smiled and called out sweetly, “I am getting the feeling that you are upset, cherie.”

She’d thought she’d had time to think things over, to cool down. To listen to Mondatta’s wisdom about peace and forgiveness and try to apply it to her enemy and remember that not everything could be taken at face value. But she was already so angry and something in Widowmaker’s tone set her off. Tracer zipped into the air, firing her guns in an attempt to push Widowmaker out of the flat they’d crashed into.

A trail of bullets followed Widowmaker as she jumped out the shattered window. She sped towards the ground, her grapple catching a ledge at the last moment. Alighting on the ground, she darted into the crowd.

Leaping to the rooftops, Tracer tried to follow her. She thought she saw the assassin in an alleyway and jumped down. Quietly, she crept through the dark alley, ears and eyes craned for any sign of Widowmaker and half expecting the woman to descend on her like a literal black widow.

She spotted Widowmaker standing near a window, looking distracted. Then Lena heard the music and she lowered her guns.

Widowmaker hadn’t noticed her, lost in music she hadn’t heard in years. On an instinct she’d forgotten she had, her legs shifted positions and she lifted up onto her toes.

_Lena was sixteen again. It was her first time at a ballet, and she smiled at Gerard as she took a seat next to him. “This is kinda exciting, innit!”_

_“Amélie will be so pleased that you came,” he said, eyes twinkling. Lena had always liked Gerard. He was a good man, intelligent and always laughing. But his wife…Amélie was beautiful in mind as well as body, sweet natured and with a smile that always left Lena’s legs weak._

_“It’s because of you two that I even get ta fly!” The enthusiasm in her voice was palpable. Flying was Lena’s life long dream, and the more dangerous the airplane, the better. She knew the scientist was working on some new technology and she hoped she’d be the first one to get her hands on it and take it into the air. But she still would have come to see Amélie dance, even without the promise of test flying a new plane. “She deserves it. I’m not gonna miss this for the world.”_

_Amélie was beautiful, and Lena’s heart could scarcely contain the depths of emotion evoked by Amélie’s performance, and Amélie’s beauty, and Amélie’s everything. She thought she might have clapped loudest of anyone, and smiled brightly when Amélie looked at her._

Widowmaker twitched, feeling as though she were being watched. She looked around and saw no one. The music remained achingly familiar. She remembered a time when she felt most alive. As much as any kill or any battle, when her blood ran warm in her veins.

 _And Amélie was twenty-three again, the lights dimming as she became Odette and danced on stage, her form perfect from the first moment to the fall. And with that spotlight on her, she was where she belonged. With that spotlight on her she felt so_ **alive**.

The music ended and the world righted itself but Widowmaker reeled. She steadied herself, turned, and met Tracer’s eyes as the latter stepped out of the shadows.

Tracer’s throat bobbed. Despite what Talon had done to Widowmaker, some small part of Amélie remained. Odette, the princess, masked by the Black Swan. Tracer had been transported back ten years.

Surging forward, Widowmaker entered Tracer’s space and the two spun around each other in a dance of their own. Tracer knocked aside Widowmaker’s gun. The assassin grabbed her wrists and pinned her hard enough to the wall to knock the breath from her lungs. Her skin was so cold and yet Tracer felt hot and dazed, her arms suspended over her head. Widowmaker was too close, so close that Tracer could almost feel every syllable as they passed over Widowmaker’s lips. “What does it mean when the prey steps willingly into the spider’s web?”

“Don’tcha know ya shouldn’t get overconfident?” Tracer blinked for just the briefest second and she was behind Widowmaker. Widowmaker jabbed with her elbow, but Tracer caught it and shoved her foot behind the other woman’s leg. The two went tumbling to the ground and rolled across the alley. Tracer came up on top, straddling Widowmaker and holding her down. A chuckle rumbled in Widowmaker’s throat before she kicked up, sending Tracer into the air and crashing into a windowsill flower garden. 

“I am not the overconfident one now, no?” She flipped back, and as her left foot touched the ground one of Tracer’s bullets burst through her shin. Widowmaker stumbled, landing hard on her rear. Instead of blood there was a clear fluid. Instead of muscle there was wire. And instead of bone there was twisted metal.

“Oh,” Tracer whispered, eyes wide as dinner plates. “...they took your legs.”

“Non, they replaced them.” Widowmaker pulled herself to her feet, her left leg twitching. She grit her teeth as she put weight on it. She remembered the sound of a saw on bone.

Heaving a sigh, Lena holstered her guns. She watched nervously as Widowmaker limped towards her. Her anger had faded, leaving her feeling cold and empty. Widowmaker had sparked a war, but she was just a pawn in a larger game. It felt like they both were pieces being moved on a board.

Widowmaker stopped in front of her, and held up her wrists together. “Are you not going to take me in?”

Lena squinted, looking down at her wrists then up into Widowmaker’s eyes. “Eh? It’s gonna be that easy, innit?”

“Good question, cherie.” That smile, the one that drove Lena mad. 

She bit her tongue and quickly wrapped a binding around Widowmaker’s wrists. Some people were going to want her head. There were governments that would take it literally, present locale included. Lena scowled and undid the bindings.

“Go.”

Tilting her head, Widowmaker regarded Lena curiously. “I owe you then.”

“I’ll collect some other time.”

Soft laughter echoed in the alley, and Widowmaker leaned over, brushing her lips against Lena’s cheek. She whispered something and Lena knew enough French to turn beet red. Widowmaker stepped back, extending her gun. Using it as a crutch, she disappeared into the darkness of the night.

The music started up again, and Widowmaker thought of another place and another time, when that music had made her happy.


End file.
